


Since We're Being Honest

by AlyxSvoboda125



Series: The Industry [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Boyband, Canon Gay Relationship, Clubbing, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Established Relationship, False Accusations, Football | Soccer, Friendship, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, M/M, Social Media, TV News, briefly, its mentioned anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:54:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5210093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyxSvoboda125/pseuds/AlyxSvoboda125
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They should all really know better than to expect no drama when they go out together and in public.</p><p>Or little-bit-longer-than a short story about the consequences of being famous and non-hetero in a quietly homophobic world featuring basically every major character from the first two books and a kidnapped Cameron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I just can't apologise, hope you can understand

**Irial Dorian (@DorianII)**

I alreddy knooi m nt gna rmeber ny odis shiiiiiit 2mrro hahahaha

 

**Salem Petrov (@Salem_Daiki)**

@DorianII lol I want whatever you’re having

 

**Text message to Harry**

**Rosie:** Did you see it?

**Rosie:** Answer the phone

**Rosie:** HARRY!

**Rosie:** HAROLD POTTER

**Rosie:** HARRY BENTON STERLING I WILL CALL YOUR MOTHER

**Harry:** Fucks sake what?

**Rosie:** The Guardian

**Harry:** Yeah why did they call me? What did those idiots do? Fuck in public?

**Rosie:** No. go to the Guardian’s website.

**Breaking Fourth heartthrob stepping out with footballer?**

Last night, Breaking Fourth’s young heartthrob, Cris Emerson was photographed at prestigious London gay club, The Shadow Lounge, with close friend and openly gay footballer, Arthur Bailey, getting intimate on the dance floor. Cris, who married longtime partner and Radio 1 DJ, Irial Dorian Grayson, in spring 2019 was absent his hubby as was the footballer who came out with his tech mogul boyfriend, Konstantin Kimura-Petrov of Daiki Company, only last year. Earlier that evening the boybander’s husband tweeted about getting drunk to forget something [see above] with the footballer’s boyfriend responding in agreement to the sentiment. Could it be that these two friends are more than they appear? Has the popstar’s marriage really managed to last less than a year? It wouldn’t be the first time the boybander’s been accused of cheating on a partner. But the real question is of how the footballer’s fifteen-year-old mentee who was checked out of school against his mother’s permission and flown to London fits into this. Either way, it doesn’t look good for fans of both couples.

 

**Text message to Rosie**

**Harry:** For fuck’s sake.

**Harry:** I’ll pick you up in 15min

**Rosie:** Don’t kill anyone boo.

* * *

Irial froze in the doorway of his kitchen with a cold shock feeling of déjà vu as he stared at the half naked man who was not his husband sitting cross-legged on his counter, typing on a tablet with one hand while he sipped coffee from a mug with the other. The overgrown, curious cat, Junebug, crept closer and closer, slipping back a little every time the shocking jade eyes landed on her with a single pierced eyebrow crooked.

It took entirely too long for his mind to fight the fog of sleep so he stood there gaping at the pierced, tattooed, fuchsia-haired familiar man sitting on his counter with a constant stream of _who are you/how did you get here_ running through his mind.

“I let psycho out in the backyard,” the American-accented voice remarked without looking up.  Irial didn’t respond beyond staring with his eyebrows drawn together and a surge of desperation: _what the hell did I do last night_. Jade eyes looked up to meet his with concern.  “Um…Iri? Are you alive?”

“He drank his weight in vodka last night,” Crispin said from behind, and Irial spun around to stare at his husband wide-eyed while Crispin’s eyebrows rose, moving between Irial and Salem before his lips curved up wickedly. “I mean I doubt he even _remembers_.”

Crispin pecked Irial’s lips as he brushed passed him and into the kitchen, Irial turning mechanically to watch him go, their Australian Shepherd, Marius, pausing from following his favorite human just long enough to nose against Irial’s hand for a morning scratch.  He left to settle at his usual place beside the island, his head tilted up and his eyes on Crispin as he piled eggs, bacon, and toast on the counter to make breakfast.

“There’s coffee,” the man on the counter offered.

“Thanks,” Crispin nodded while the man reached up with mind-bending knowledge of where everything in the house was located.  _What twilight zone shit…?_

“Do _you_?”  Irial finally blurted; the man eyed Junebug with pursed lips as she settled into a sit beside him, her tail slapping against his thigh every now and then, deliberate.

Crispin laughed and beamed impishly at Irial, eyes moving between the man and Irial yet again before he announced knowingly and bemused, “Obviously more than _you_.  I can hold my liquor.”

“You’re English,” the man at the counter said, handing Crispin the mug of coffee as he walked passed to the stove, eggs and cheese in hand. “Isn’t holding your liquor a requirement of citizenship?  I just figured you guys started at ten.”

“That’s the Irish,” Crispin joked.

“Aha,” the man nodded sagely, scowling down at the feline as she sidled closer, pressing completely against his side and peering up at him with maliciously innocent eyes.  He pouted. “Really, Junebug? I thought we had an agreement. I’ll put you out just like the dog.”

“No you won’t,” Crispin remarked, sweeping Junebug off the counter and into his arms, cradling her close.  “Junebug is my princess.  I would never let him, love.”  The cat purred and nuzzled against Crispin’s chin.

Really, Irial was still trying to collect himself.  What kind of shit had happened last night?

He vaguely remembered coming home and agreeing to go to the Shadow Lounge with Crispin.  They’d gotten dressed, argued over whether or not to drive or take a taxi, settled on a taxi, and…met people?  Maybe? Honestly, by the time they may or may not have met people, Irial had been at least on his fifth drink of the night not even including his on-again off-again shot taking. Jell-o shots.  Tequila shots.  He vaguely remembers him and Crispin taking a flaming shot, him doing marijuana in the back with someone, and very touchy-feely dancing with people he doesn’t necessarily think _were_ Crispin.

_What the actual fuck?_

Surprised, he whirled around when he heard the door opening, peering down the hallway to find Arthur Bailey coming into his house like he lived there, tossing the spare key into the little pot on the table beside the door, and stripping off his damp sweatshirt to hang it on a peg.  He took a minute to half look over his favorite footballer’s absolutely delicious physique in a pair of fitted UnderArmour leggings and a tank top that molded to his ripped upper body, because, heaven help him, Irial loved Crispin and lusted after his body but that didn’t mean he couldn’t _look_ when the man in question was as sexy as Bailey.

Bailey who was dating…

_Oh_.

Startling as he reached up to fix his ponytail, pulling the earbuds out to wrap the wire around his neck, Bailey jolted when he noticed Irial, raising a hand and waving at him uncertainly.

“Morning,” Irial retorted shortly, turning around to stare at an amused Crispin and completely disconnected Salem in turn.  “Hi.  Salem. Bailey’s Salem. Good morning.”

Salem looked up at Irial, frowning thoughtfully.  “Good morning, Irial?  It’s not _actually_ morning, Irial?” He turned to Crispin, “Is he okay?”

“Too much Tequila’s not good for him,” Crispin announced as Bailey waltzed into the kitchen and over to Salem, pressing a long, good morning kiss to his lips as he opened the refrigerator and stole a bottle of water, leaning against the counter beside his boyfriend.

Irial glared at Crispin.  “You’re an asshole.”

“I had to,” Crispin giggled.  “Your face was too great.”

Huffing, Irial reached over and stole the cat from Crispin’s one-handed hold, scowling at his grinning husband over her head.  She purred as he stroked her belly.  “You’re evil.  I want a divorce.  Clearly, Junebug’s the only one who loves me.”

“Not Stassi?”

Irial scoffed, “I love my little queen, absolutely, but I know she just wants me for my pork chops.”

Crispin slanted him an amused look while Bailey sputtered. “This is why I don’t have pets. Weirdness abounds.”

“Isn’t it a little early for your expansive vocabulary?” Salem asked, leaning over to rest his chin on Bailey’s shoulder.  “It’s bad enough your fucking alarm woke me up at ass crack o’clock this morning so you could _run off your hangover_. Who even does that? That’s so extra.”

Whipping around, spatula in hand, Crispin grinned excitedly and pointed it at Salem.  “You’ve been spending time on Tumblr.”

Salem gave him a bored look.  “Maybe I’m just hip with the lingo, dude.  I’ve got a nineteen year old girl living in my house, you know.” Crispin frowned at him doubtfully, and Irial, taking advantage of his distraction, reached over to steal a piece of the sizzling bacon regardless of the way his fingertips burned from the heat. Without even looking, Crispin moved to slap his hand with the spatula, and Irial hissed, dropping the bacon, and watching with a pout as Marius gobbled it up happily.

“You might _actually_ be Satan.”

Crispin grinned, and Salem relented.  “I had to stop following your not-so-secret Tumblr.  One minute you’re reblogging travel pics and music recs, and the next you’re posting artsy explicit photos.  Really, that’s entirely too much information about yours and Irial’s sex life for me to be comfortable with.”

Bailey rolled his eyes as he quirked an eyebrow at his boyfriend. “I’ve been on _your_ blog.  This from the man who reblogs _every_ gay and lesbian porn gifset that comes across his dash.”

“I’m _supporting_ my community, you dunce.  Don’t make more out of this than there is.”  Bailey and Irial snorted while Crispin’s eyebrows just rose, lips pressed together in an unmistakable display of ‘yeah, sure Jan’ that Salem caught just enough of to prompt sticking his tongue out.

With every bit of clarity came the rising throb of pain in Irial’s head, and he sighed, dropping Junebug on the counter—and making Bailey side-eye him hard, his disdain for animals unmistakable and absolutely hilarious—as he made a move around the island for the coffee pot with a pout and grabby hands. Salem quirked an eyebrow, smirking, and Crispin caught Irial around the waist, pinning him as his side and shaking his head with a broad grin.  Irial scowled up at him.

“I love you, princess, but right now I might actually kill you if I don’t have coffee.”

“Coffee’s bad for hangovers,” Crispin retorted succinctly and cheerfully. You’re dehydrated. Take paracetamol and orange juice.”

“But I want coffee,” he whined as the pair moved behind Crispin, Salem grabbing a class from the cabinet while Bailey took a carton of orange juice to pour Irial some.  Glaring maliciously at them over Crispin’s shoulder for their betrayal, Salem simply grinned, dropping the juice and a bottle of pills onto the counter in Irial’s reach. “I hate all of you. Never want to see you again. Don’t talk to me.” He snapped even as he snuggled into Crispin’s side and took the medicine.

“Finish the juice,” Crispin instructed.

“Why?” He whined.

“Dehydration,” he sing-songed back, pressing a kiss to Irial’s temple before he moved to finish breakfast.

“Ugh,” Irial commented, grimacing as he complied.

“At least, you’re not being force fed vitamins and minerals on the regular,” Salem pointed out.

Irial made a face, gaze darting between them while Bailey rolled his eyes and peered back at Salem.  “Your GP agrees with me.”

“Why are you even having conversations with _my_ doctor?”

“So does you mother,” Bailey retorted smugly.

“Fucking hell,” Salem murmured.  “I never should’ve introduce you to the whole clan.  This is outrageous!  Also, my mother is an absolute health nut.  She doesn’t count.  She, like, goes to the gym, takes bikram yoga on the regular, and drinks protein shakes! Oh my God, she’s the female version of you.”  He clapped his hands to his mouth and stared at Bailey with wide eyes while Bailey ignored him to help Crispin bring the plates to the table.

Salem’s eyes went to Irial who half-shrugged and smiled. “It’s too early for Freud.”

“It’s twelve,” Bailey pointed out.

“Maybe we should do vitamins,” Crispin mused.

“Alright,” Irial declared, holding up his hands and looking at Salem. “You and the spawn of Satan have to go now before the husband gets anymore terrible ideas.”

Salem nodded like this made sense while Crispin turned around to stick his tongue out at Irial who beamed brightly before looking down at Marius. The dog blinked up at him with pleading, crystal blue eyes, and Irial melted, reaching out to stroke over the canine’s fur and press a kiss to his head.  He squatted down and let his dog lick his face while he scowled, raking his fingers through Marius’s silky, shaggy coat.

“You want to let him out with Stassi?”  Crispin asked, as he brushed passed behind Irial, running a hand through his hair briefly as he reaches up for a carafe.

“Absolutely, you want to go out Marius?”  The dog licked Irial’s face again, and he scrunched up his nose as he stood, leading the dog to the back door and opening it wide enough to let him slip outside.  Making a face, he went to the sink to wash off the dog slobber while Crispin glanced over his shoulder at him with amusement as he settled at the table beside Salem. “Your dog has rank breath, Crispin,” Irial told him as he sat down at the table, grinning to find his tea already set out.

“I told you we should brush his teeth.  _You_ said that was ridiculously posh,” Crispin pointed out rather unhelpfully.

“It is!”  Irial cried, turning to Salem and Bailey.  “Isn’t it?”

“I have no opinion,” Salem demurred, raising his hands in surrender.

“You live in Primrose Hill,” was Bailey’s only reply.

“I know!” Crispin pouted while Bailey laughed, and Irial rolled his eyes and pointed a finger at his husband.

“We went over this Mr. I-want-to-be-centralized-but-still-have-space-and-privacy-and-a-garden-and-parking. You literally defined Primrose Hill, but still had me look everywhere over the fucking rainbow.”

“Hampstead.”

“St. John’s Wood.”

“Victoria, maybe,” Bailey frowned.

Salem nodded, “Notting Hill?”

“Those are primarily townhouses,” Bailey added while Salem nodded.

Crispin looked over at Irial with raised eyebrows, and he turned to his friends with a glare.  “I’ve heard quite enough out of you lot.  Honestly, don’t give him ideas.  I refuse to move all of my belongings again.  It’s stressful. Also, Crispin’s a pretentious princess with thousand pounds sculptures and priceless pieces of modern art. Something would rip. He would get upset. I’d end up starting a fight about paint colors.  Do not help.” He looked over at Crispin who grinned innocently, catching his hand and linking their fingers together. “No.”

“Did I say anything?”

“Did you need to?”

Crispin’s only response was to pull out his mobile and snap a picture first of their breakfast, then of everyone at the table eating breakfast that would probably end up making the rounds on every social media platform available including Tumblr.

They’d lost their anonymity last year when Crispin had decided ‘fuck it’ and started replying, answering, and clarifying for their shippers on Tumblr. He hadn’t actually stopped since it had begun, and when he’d been putting out his solo album, Harry had thought it was decent enough self-promotion and fan service in addition to everything else he’d been manipulating that he’d allowed it without much of a fight. What he _had_ put a stop to were the semi-explicit artistic, softcore porn that Crispin had a habit of posting online via Irial’s blog.  But once Crispin had outed Irial’s Tumblr url to the entire planet, Harry had cracked down.

Crispin, in his infinite wisdom, had therefore started a _second_ blog, this one considerably more anonymous, and featuring their collection semi-explicit, homoerotic photos. If Harry knew about it—and Irial had very little doubt he _didn’t_ —he’d chosen to keep that particular secret to himself so long as Crispin didn’t release anything that could identify them, which, really, thank fuck for Salem who’d taken a single look at the pictures and twenty-four hours later had sent Crispin an app that would filter out their tattoos from the photo.

Pausing, Crispin narrowed his eyes at his mobile, and Irial quirked an eyebrow sitting up and peering over at his husband quizzically.  He didn’t speak though, brow furrowing as he scrolled through his feed.

It was Salem’s mobile phone that went off, loud and shrill, on the counter. All four heads rose and turned to look at the device.

With a peculiar look on his face, Crispin clicked his phone off and set it down gingerly, resting his hands in his lap and clearing his throat as he looked at Salem.  “You’re going to want to get that.”

Salem’s eyebrows rose.  “Want to tell me why?”

The pause between the ringing ceasing, and it starting up again had been barely fifteen seconds, and Irial glanced between Salem and Crispin, meeting Bailey’s eyes before turning to Crispin wordlessly.  Crispin cleared his throat and tugged on his collar, not necessarily nervously but with a degree of discomfort that didn’t make Irial anymore secure about what was coming.

The end of the second ring came closely followed by a third, and the jingle of keys that had three heads swiveling to the door while Crispin dropped his on the table in defeat.  Irial frowned down at Crispin in confusion as Harry marched into the room, mobile phone in hand and eyes narrowed on the four of them.  Rosie followed him seeming considerably less hassled; her eyebrows rose at the food, and she reached over to steal a piece of bacon, kissing Irial’s temple and waving when Crispin peered up at her weakly over his arm.

Not in the mood for pleasantries, Harry’s glare focused on Salem of all things who watched him balefully as he munched on a slice of toast. “I specifically called _you_ because you always answer your phone.”

“It’s over there though,” Salem pointed over to the counter, and Harry’s gaze turned to the mobile, picking it up and squeezing it in a white-knuckled fist that made _Irial_ flinch, Bailey raise his eyebrows, and Salem glower malevolently.  Forcing himself calm, Harry handed it to Salem who plucked it out of their friend’s grip with clenched teeth and a borderline feral smile.

“Are the four of you determined to make my life miserable?” Harry finally bit out. “I was on a date. It was amazing. I was _this close_ to having sex, and I get a phone call from _The Guardian_ asking me if I want to comment on my clients’ elicit affair!  I’m just wondering if you are all determined to have me remain celibate for the next foreseeable forever.  Is that a fair assessment?”

Rosie huffed and rolled her eyes as she poured herself a cup of coffee and reclined against the island.  “Lord, the _drama_.  Let’s be real: you get laid entirely too much just not at normal hours of the day or for more than one round at a time. That’s not celibacy just a severe lack of luck, but I digress.”

“Don’t help, Rosemary,” Harry replied.

She pointed a finger at him warningly.  “Call me Rosemary one more time, Potter.  I dare you.”

Irial half-smiled at his best friends while Harry ignored Rosie to glower at the four of them with an unmitigated fury that had three of them trading disbelieving looks while Crispin hid in the crook of his elbow like an Ostrich. He rested a hand on the back of Crispin’s neck, meeting his wide-eyes and smiling slightly at him before tipping his head back to peer at Harry.

“Are we gonna get an explanation or are you just going to yell about…I don’t know?”

Harry nodded with a sarcastic ‘that’s fair look’ that only succeeded in making Irial shrink in his seat.  He turned to Rosie who finished her sip of coffee before setting it aside and reaching into her bag to pull out a handful of magazines and newspapers. Dropping them on the table, Irial took one, face dropping as he took in the cover where Bailey and Crispin had forgone all sense of propriety or conscious decision making in the wake of several Jaeger bombs, at least four beers, and copious amounts of Jell-o shots.

Really, Irial should have seen this coming.

He set the paper down and looked up at Bailey and Salem who had their heads bent together as they studied one of the other papers with complete and utter detachment from the situation.  Crispin, deciding he’d had enough of Harry’s silent anger, looked up and met Harry’s eyes.  “So, is this back to when everyone thought I slept with every girl I breathed next to except the gay version? Because…I’m not comfortable with that level of character defamation.  I’ve only been married a year.  It’s a bit tasteless for me to be caught publicly cheating with my ex, don’t you think?”

“With your what?”  Harry demanded, and everyone froze, not meeting his eyes and cringing back.

_Right, yeah, he hadn’t known that one_.

“I mean we weren’t dating.  Just shagging,” Crispin tried to clean up.         

“Stop,” Bailey shook his head, eyes wide while Salem buried his face against Bailey’s arm stifling laughter.  Irial rested his hand on Crispin’s thigh.

“Is it that big of a deal?”  Irial snapped.

“Depends,” Harry returned evenly, “where were the pair of you?”

“Smoking weed in back,” Salem told him laconically.

Harry released the breath he was holding and turned to Rosie who made a face as she turned to Harry with a slow-spreading, uncertain smile. He took a deep breath and turned back to them.  “Let me just…get this straight…you four went out to a gay club together, got photographed grinding on each other with more intimacy than a drunken frat boy with a naked, dyed blonde, big-boobed cheerleader desperate to fuck while your boyfriends were off getting high, and then stayed at each other’s house to make a nice midday breakfast you subsequently posted to social media.  That’s what you’re telling me?”

Irial met Crispin’s sheepish but amused eyes before meeting Salem’s look of bemusement, unable to resist turning back to Harry and saying, “At least they didn’t get a picture of us getting high.”

Teeth gritted, Harry turned to Irial.  “Do you want me to kill you?”

Crispin sighed in exasperation.  “I feel like I fell through a fucking time warp.  I’m married?  Bailey’s got a boyfriend. Our partners were both _there_.”

“ _I_ know that. _You_ know that.  The rest of the world neither knows nor cares.”

“This is ridiculous,” Bailey added while everyone else nodded.

“This is reality,” Harry snapped at them.  “Yes, it sucks that Dissident spent most of the last decade packaging you as this lothario who fucks unencumbered and without any care to spare to whoever else you’re with or if you’re _actually_ cheating, and I can issue retractions but at the end of the day, this is what people see and what they believe.”  Irial drew in a breath outraged on his boy’s behalf, while Crispin opened his mouth to argue when Harry cut him off swiftly.  “I don’t care.  It’s going to sound horrible, but it doesn’t help that you came out as pansexual, which means, unlike Bailey, you don’t get a pass on all your PR relationships. People are willing to let go of all the ones surrounding your time with Irial, but beyond that they couldn’t have all been lies—”

“ _Most_ of them _were_ ,” Irial and Crispin snapped simultaneously.

“—but not enough of them for it to matter.  This is what people think, because this is what they’ve been conditioned to think, and it sucks absolutely, but this is how it is. This is the real world not the one made up of rainbows, butterflies, and sunshine, got me?  And it’s always going to be worse for you, because you’re sexuality isn’t clearcut.  It’s muddy, situational, and doesn’t have obvious lines.  Welcome to the world where people like black and white, and gray areas are to be ignored and dismissed.  I didn’t make the rules.”

“You’re being a bit of a jackass,” Rosie pointed out.

“Why? I’m bi.  You and moron McGee over here are pan.  I’m doing the job they asked me to do.”

Rosie’s hands rose while Salem shrugged like this made sense, and it _did_ , in theory, Irial supposed. He understood where Harry was coming from, but the crushed look on Crispin’s face did not endear Irial to his best mate’s approach to the situation.  Honestly, though, he didn’t understand why the world cared, and maybe this was just a part to fame that Irial would just never understand. His and Crispin’s relationship was… _theirs_.

He just didn’t understand—or care—why the rest of planet earth felt like they had a right to be self-righteous about shit.  If Crispin _had_ hooked up with Bailey, that would be entirely between the pair of them, Bailey, and Salem.  It wasn’t anyone else’s issue but theirs, and Irial had a big enough mouth that if something had gone down that particularly bothered him the world would know it by now.

Frankly, two men in relationships dancing together in a gay club should not be newsworthy or automatically indicate cheating.

Crispin had kissed people while in PR relationships, and no one wanted to get up in arms about how unethical _that_ was but god forbid two friends dance together, drunk, at a club, suddenly everyone has an opinion.

“Let’s just try not to tell the whole world that the two of them used to shag, and the pair of you take time out from being drunk and horny and baked while I fix this.”  Harry nodded with a thin smile that had Bailey studying him coldly while Salem cocked his head and raised his eyebrows that said without words that he needed to watch his tone. “You’re all going to have to talk about this, and not on your show because you tend to get distracted and I need someone who isn’t you to ask the questions.”

Irial paused and narrowed his eyes on his friend.  “I feel a bit insulted, mate, not gonna lie.”

“He just means that you get a little defensive and purposefully bring up things he’d rather you didn’t and drop questions that have to be asked,” Rosie clarified.

_That_ didn’t make it any better.

“So…I’m bad at following directions?”  Irial asked archly.  Rosie and Salem snorted.  Crispin stifled a smile, and Harry simply looked at him.  He nodded slowly, “I accept that.”

Salem and Crispin devolved into giggles, and Bailey glanced between them, popping some eggs in his mouth to futilely combat his growing smile. Harry sighed and put a hand to his forehead while Rosie sipped her coffee genially, narrowing her eyes at the ceiling.

“I’m calling Derek Havershim.  Maybe, just maybe, he can fix this mess.”

“And he likes us, we’re friends, he probably won’t throw us under the bus?” Crispin suggested unhelpfully.

“I mean yes?”  Harry shrugged while Rosie pulled out her mobile phone to make the arrangements. “Now,” Harry turned his attention to Bailey who raised his eyebrows, eyes darting around in confusion, “you.”

“Me?”

“Him?” Salem crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

“Look,” Harry sighed, “I get that you’re friends with the kid…or mentoring him…or whatever it is footballers do when they make friends with fifteen year olds they meet coaching summer camp.  That doesn’t mean you get to just spring them from boarding school and fly them to London for whatever.  Did you really not think that would make the news?”

Salem and Bailey fell silent, glancing at each other, and Irial looked between them before his mouth fell open.  He turned to Crispin who seemed equally as understanding.  _Well fuck._

Bailey turned to Harry.  “Um…no offense…but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You haven’t spoken to your little football friend recently? Invited him to practice with you in London?”  Harry inquired archly.

“I mean, _yeah_ ,” Bailey defended, “ _over the summer._ When he’s out of school. I literally have no idea what you mean, Harry.”

“Where’s Cam?”  Salem inserted making Bailey frown as he turned to his boyfriend.

Irial whistled while Crispin shrank in his seat, having realized the direction this was going.

Harry paused, sharing a quick look with Rosie before hedging carefully, “With you?”

“No,” Salem and Bailey said in tandem, shaking their heads.

“Yes,” Harry continued uncertainly.  “Your credit card information was on the ticket to Heathrow he purchased three days ago.  Your name’s on the note excusing him from class at Shattucks.”  Upon seeing their ‘nope, still no’ faces, Harry trailed off, wincing. “He has your address?”

“He sends me postcards,” Bailey nodded.

Salem grimaced, “ _That’s_ what that Uber receipt was.  I just thought it was Izumi.”

Bailey sighed while Irial and Crispin shared a loaded look while Rosie gaped at the pair of them, and Harry cringed.

“This kid’s flight got in _today_ at the latest, and you’re telling me we have no idea where a fifteen year old boy who ran away from home _in America_ to _London, England_ is? That’s what you’re telling me?”

The sound of Stassi and Marius barking drew Irial and Crispin’s attention.

They never barked.  Ever. They were spoiled enough that it had never been a necessity, and no one they didn’t know ever visited them. Crispin was up and moving before Irial, pulling open the back door and raising his eyebrows immediately. “Marius, Stassi!” They stopped barking immediately, coming over to lick Crispin’s hand before trotting inside the house, and Crispin reached out and pulled in a familiar teenager by the strap of his beat up Nike backpack.  “Look, I found a small human.”

Irial frowned at the kid who waved awkwardly.  “How did you even find this house?”  He said in time with Salem’s sarcastic, “Oh good, right on time then.”

Bailey groaned and dropped his head in his hands as he stared at Cameron. “What did you do?”

“And how did you get our banking information?”  Salem responded.  Bailey shot him an exasperated look, and Salem half-shrugged, “No, no, this is actually the important question, Bailey.  Fight me on this.”


	2. If I go to jail tonight, promise you'll pay my bail

**Text message to Cam**

**Tanner:** Cameron where are you?

 **Tanner:** Stop being ridiculous and answer the phone.

 **Tanner:** Ffs Cam! I’m trying to talk to you!

 **Tanner:** I’m sorry ok. I am an asshole

 **Tanner:** Your mother just called me looking for you.

 **Tanner:** Why is she looking for you? Where are you?

 **Tanner:** What is all this about Bailey bringing you to London?

 **Tanner:** He wouldn’t interrupt your football season like that!

 **Tanner:** Did you RUNAWAY?

 **Tanner:** Cammy please just talk to me

 **Tanner:** I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

 **Tanner:** Just come home please?

 **Tanner:** We need to talk about this.

**Harper Cunningham (@HarperLAXtex)**

@Cam76Tex when you get home I’m going to kill you

 

**Harper Cunningham (@HarperLAXtex)**

But thank you @ArthurBailey for finding my baby and keeping him safe

 

**Cameron Cunningham (@Cam76Tex)**

@HarperLAXtex sorry mom. Thanks for letting me stay.

 

**Harper Cunningham (@HarperLAXtex)**

@Cam76Tex

* * *

As expected, Cameron’s mother had been pissed off, but a half-hour session of him crying in Irial and Crispin’s downstairs bathroom, had had her tentatively and sympathetically agreeing to allow him to stay in London for a week if they’d have him, swearing she’d pay them back (Bailey had profusely refused to take any money), and apologizing for news coverage of the situation.

Either way, the four of them ended up lounging in Crispin and Irial’s garden, half sprawled across each other while the dogs had decided to cuddle on the outdoor chaise with the red-eyed boy who’d been staring into the depths of his tea for the last half-hour like it held the secrets to the universe. They’d been temporarily disallowed any social media presence (Irial’s arsenal of electronics having been confiscated because Harry didn’t trust him) and told to ‘stay under the radar, _actually_ under the radar, like don’t go anywhere people will know and/or photograph any of you.’  So they’d decided to just stay put and pretend the rest of the ridiculously nosy world didn’t exist.

And maybe do some teenage boy therapy, it seemed.

 _If Cameron ever deigned to speak_.

“I’m sorry I stole your credit card information…and lied…and broke into your uber,” was the first thing he said, looking at Salem whose only response was: “I’m changing all the passcodes.”

Bailey elbowed him, and he huffed and shrugged, taking a swallow of the hot chocolate and Bailey’s Irial had cracked open when the teenager had walked into the kitchen and promptly burst into tears.

It accurately translated into their ability to handle problems like adults.

Which was to say not at all.

Still, at least they’d stuck around.  Harry and Rosie had fled so fast Dash from _The Incredibles_ would have been awestruck.

“I needed to get out of Shattucks.”

“Okay,” Bailey nodded, drawing out the word and narrowing his eyes on the heartbroken teenager.

“You fled the _country_ ,” Cris clarified from where he laid with his head resting on Irial’s chest, cuddled up against him.

“The city wasn’t fucking far enough,” Cameron muttered darkly. Salem’s eyebrows rose, and he shared a wide-eyed look with Irial who seemed just as shocked by the bitterness in his tone.

Cameron generally wasn’t the type.

Bailey made a face, recognizing that touch of anger and resentment for what it was.  “Cam, is this about Tanner?”

Last time Bailey had Skyped Cameron— _two weeks ago_ —him and Tanner had been fine, still dating albeit long distance as Cameron had remained at Shattucks-St. Mary while Tanner had officially been drafted into the Ontario Hockey League and moved to live with his team in Sudbury, Ontario.  Then again, a lot could change in two weeks, and, apparently, it had changed enough to make Cameron flee the whole North American continent heedless of his football practices.  Realistically, that was the most alarming part of the whole thing; Bailey knew personally that serious athletes didn’t up and leave at the drop of a hat unless there was a severe issue.

Pointing at Salem’s cup, Cameron asked seriously, “Can I have a sip of that?”

Salem held it out while Bailey gaped at him in disbelief. Cris lunged forward and plucked it out of Salem’s hands while Irial glared at him.  “We’re in enough trouble, yeah?”

Half shrugging, Salem stole Bailey’s spiked orange juice and took a sip as he settled back against Bailey.  He turned to Cameron.  “Speak.”

Swallowing, Cameron buried deeper into Stassi’s fur while the canine practically preened under all the attention, and Marius settled his head on Cameron’s lap in a bid for attention.  _Canines, honestly_. “TannerfuckingcheatedonmewithsomeCanadiandouchebag.”

Irial’s eyebrows drew together quizzically while Cris cocked his head with obvious confusion.  Salem blinked at him and shook his head.  “And in English that means?”

Cameron took a long, deep breath and said tightly: “Tanner cheated on me with some Canadian douchebag who works at a hockey store down the street from where he’s being hosted.”

The silence was deafening.

No one moved, unsure how to go about broaching that topic.

“Did he…tell you that?”  Cris finally asked hesitantly.

“No.” Cameron spat bitterly, “His fucking teammate did when I went up to see them play.  Looked right at me and said ‘I didn’t know you two were still friends. I couldn’t be friends with my ex, especially not when they’re sleeping with people they’ve known less than a month.’ Naturally, I was pretty fucking confused.  He freaked out. And Tanner’s roommate explained that _everyone knew_ Tanner had been sleeping with some senior dickhead named Elliott who went to their school and worked at the local skate shop.”

Bailey grimaced and mumbled, “Not really a reason to flee the country.”

Salem pinched him, and he fell silent, waiting for a red-faced, infuriated Cameron to continue.

“And do you know what that asshole said to me when I asked him about it?”

Irial cringed while Cris shook his head, “I don’t know if I want to.”

“He said that he loved me as a friend, but did I really think that we’d be able to last long distance?”

Bailey didn’t say that for high schoolers with sports careers in their futures, Tanner had a point even if he’d been an absolute twat about handling his insecurities. That would get him in a shit ton of trouble with everyone.  Besides, every person here had dealt with some form of long distance relationship; it was hard for _adults_ but not impossible. And to his knowledge, no one here had ever dealt with them by fucking around on their partners and shrugging it off like it was nothing.

Cameron huffed and threw his hands up, startling the dogs that jolted and looked at him wide-eyed.  “It’s been a month! ‘Long distance’ my ass! He couldn’t last a month without screwing around?  I mean never mind that he was my _boyfriend_ , that I _love him_ , and he _took my virginity_!”  The four of them winced simultaneously while Cameron went on undisturbed by their mirrored reactions.  “I thought we were friends!  _Best friends_!  Who does that to their best friend?”

Salem leaned into Bailey and whispered quietly, “I’ll kill him.”

“He’s sixteen,” Bailey answered, though he didn’t disagree with the sentiment as he watched Cameron, torn and devastated, devolving on the chaise across from them in the fur of dog that had verbally attacked him under an hour ago.

Salem’s expression and lack of response said he cared very little about any of those warnings, and while Bailey would rather Salem not go to jail, if he wanted to track down Tanner Beauvais and at the very most _yell_ at him… _well_ …Bailey wouldn’t object to that.  Not really.

Cameron wiped his eyes harshly with the back of his hand, and Cris was up and dropping down beside him to pull him into a hug, wiping the teenager’s tears with the sleeve of his jumper as he let him sob softly against his shoulder. _Thank God somebody here is good with comforting kids,_ Bailey thought to himself as he watched silently and with growing anger at Tanner and despair on Cameron’s behalf.

“He’s my best friend,” Cameron cried softly.  “We’ve been through _everything_ together.  How could he do this to me?  What did I do to him? What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” everyone said at once, jolting up to meet Cameron’s eyes while Cris shook his head and met Irial’s eyes with fury in his eyes as he rubbed a hand up and down Cameron’s arm.  Cris looked down at him. “ _You_ didn’t do _anything_ wrong.”

“Was it _me_? It _had_ to be, right?”  Cameron looked up at Cris pleadingly, eyes rimmed in red and bright with tears. “I mean you don’t just fuck around on your best friend unless there’s something _wrong_ do you?”

Cris shook his head, tearing up while Bailey bit his bottom lip and shook his head.  Salem bit the inside of his cheek and looked away from Cameron.

“How do you do that to _anyone_? Why would he do that to me? We’ve been friends for _years_!  He knows everything about me!  I don’t understand,” Cameron sobbed, shaking his head desperately and trembling. Cris pulled him in tightly and let him sob brokenly.

Irial leaned over towards Salem and Bailey.  “I break his kneecaps.  You can take the fingers.”

“Deal,” Salem nodded, and Bailey didn’t even had the constitution to tell them—facetious or not—they probably shouldn’t say perfectly reasonable shit like that.

Cris sighed and shook his head, running his hand over Cameron’s clipped hair comfortingly.  “I don’t…it’s not…” he sighed and looked at the three of them for help.

Salem slipped out from his place beside Bailey to squat down in front of Cameron, staring up and meeting his eyes.  “Look, Cam, some people just can’t…and I know that’s not a good enough excuse, but that’s the way it is.  You’re never gonna know why he did what he did.  Whether he was scared of something or needed something or just _wanted_ it, and even if you did know, it wouldn’t really make a difference to the way you feel.  At the end of the day, Tanner’s your best friend—your _boyfriend_ —you trusted him, and he betrayed your trust for whatever reason.”

Cameron nodded, lips trembling as tears spilled from his eyes. “I knew we weren’t gonna last. I’m not an idiot. We’re teenagers and athletes and living in two different countries, but I just thought when we were done, he’d have the courtesy of forwarding me the memo and not humiliating me in front of his whole hockey team.  What did I do to him that made him do that to me?”

Irial shook his head while Bailey gritted his teeth.

“Nothing,” Irial promised Cameron.  “But you’re not going to believe that for a long time.  What he did had nothing to do with _you_ and everything to do with _him_. You’re not gonna get that for a long time, though.”

Salem nodded slowly, lips pulled into a tight grimace. Bailey leaned forward to wrap his arms around Salem’s neck loosely, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He reached up to grasp Bailey’s wrist without looking away from Cameron.

“I just want to understand,” Cameron sobbed.

“Has he called you?”  Bailey asked.

Cameron shrugged, “Sixteen times.  I just don’t want to answer.  I don’t want to deal with it, because I _know_ he’s going to look at me and ask if we can still be friends.  But how am I supposed to be friends with someone I trusted, gave _all of myself_ to, was _in love with_? How do I get passed that?”

Salem shrugged and admitted reluctantly, “You just do.” Cris and Irial glared at him while Bailey quirked an eyebrow.

Cameron laughed brokenly, humorlessly, “Wow, thanks for that Sale.”

“I’m not saying it’s easy, and I’m not saying it’s quick. It’s gonna be a fight, and take time, and come back when you least expect it to every time you think you have a good thing going, but you _will_ move passed it because you have to.  You don’t _have_ to be friends with him again. You don’t have to answer his calls or read his texts.  You don’t _have_ to accept his apology or listen to his excuses.  Honestly? They don’t mean much, and they’re not gonna help you feel any better.”

“Fucking hell, Salem,” Irial snapped.

He continued as if he hadn’t heard them.  “I slept with someone once when he had a boyfriend,” Salem confessed, and everyone stilled and turned their attention to Salem who seemed uncomfortable but no less determined to explain.  “And I’ve _been_ cheated on. Multiple times. No matter what he _thinks_ happened or why he thinks he did it, he did it because he wanted to more than he wanted you.  I _know_ because when I slept with someone else’s boyfriend—someone I _knew_ and _liked_ —I did it because I wanted to. And no matter what happened after that or how we dealt with it, that was the reality.  Neither of us considered him or his relationship because we wanted each other—sexually—more than we cared about the relationship he was building with someone else.

“Cheating destroys trust.  It destroys relationships.  And it destroys the person being cheated on a level so deep that it’ll always be there even when you think you’ve moved passed it.  _You_ didn’t do _anything_ wrong.  There was nothing wrong with you.  There was nothing this Elliot kid had that you didn’t.  It wasn’t distance or time or lack of affection. It was a lack of thought, a lack of consideration about you _at all_ , and that’s the biggest betrayal.  That you were an afterthought to Tanner getting what he _wanted_ especially because of how close you two are. It’ll get easier, and you’ll move passed this, but you’re allowed to hurt and be angry in the mean time.”

Everyone fell silent, struck by Salem’s poignant admission.

Bailey hadn’t known that.

He’d known Salem had been cheated _on_ , but never knew he’d cheated _with_ someone.  He was secure enough to know it hadn’t been during the course of their relationship, but he still wondered how and where and when.  Not that he’d asked right now.

“Just maybe try not to skip your continent again,” Irial hedged carefully.

Cameron let out a bark of laughter that eased Bailey’s heart just a little, and he got to his feet and picked up the football tucked away in the pot of a plant— _Irial’s so weird_. “Come on,” he nodded, and Cameron perked up slightly and got to his feet.

“Wait for me!  I want to play!” Irial called out, trailing after them accompanied by the two dogs that barked happily and raced after them.

Bailey half-smiled and looked back to find Salem slung over Cris’s back, his arms twined lightly around his neck and laughing at whatever he’d said. With a shake of his head, Bailey grinned and turned back to Cameron, happy to find him looking more than a little blissfully content as he passed the ball back and forth to Irial, making cheeky comments on his technique that had Irial sticking out his tongue in annoyance. Shaking his head, Bailey turned back to them, laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This went totally sideways. I was all up for writing cute fluffiness about Cameron and Tanner, and then sat down an went 'wait Tanner's in junior league hockey in Canada' so that's long distance, but it's okay right? Then Cameron's crying about Tanner hooking up with someone and I sat here and just went 'well fuck me' but my writing teacher said if the story writes itself just go with. I went with it motherfucker but I am not happy about this development at all! I'm so sorry!
> 
> Also yoooo Salem. I'm so sorry, but ya'll are gonna have to wait for that explanation, but I have plans like you would not believe. Also, my mother actually sent me those gifs once...actually she quoted them and I sent them to her because I am that person who responds in reaction gifs.


	3. See they want to buy my pride, but that just ain't up for sale

**Breaking Fourth (@breakingfourth)**

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* * *

Cameron had never been backstage at a shoot like this, and he found the whole thing hectic, chaotic, with too many cameras, hairdressers, stylists, and people with little microphones in their ear. A strange mix of boyband fangirls and young football fans had gathered in the seats of the studio to watch the interview, and Cameron had a front row seat to the whole thing, sitting cross-legged on an empty chest while Harry Benton-Sterling stood beside him, alternating between tapping on his cell phone and barking orders at his employees when they walked passed save for Rosie who consistently flicked him off every time he tried.

Derek Havershim came out with a broad smile and a ridiculously brightly colored suit.  Harry paused, grinning when he saw him.  “My God, Harry Benton-Sterling!  Look at you! And you brought a little chum!” They hugged with wide smiles, Derek smacking a kiss to Harry’s cheeks and making him roll his eyes as he pulled back. “Don’t be so _serious_ all the time, Harold.”  His eyes looked Harry up and down, lips pulling up in a playful sneer.  “Or so _Hipster_.  How do you get so many good jobs?”

“By being awesome,” Harry answered, putting a hand on Cameron’s shoulder. “And this one isn’t _mine_.”

“He’s with _me_ ,” Bailey announced as he came out from the back, a member of the crew racing behind him with pieces of the mic in her hands.

Cameron raised his eyebrows at his mentor in his usual brand of posh tailoring and a scowl on his face.  The man stood uncomfortably in a black blazer with a _pocket square_ over a button-up and orange sweater, a pair of fitted black jeans tucked into fashionable riding boots that probably cost more than Cameron’s tuition.  His mane of hair had been slicked back into something that vaguely resembled presentable. Cameron gaped, “Lookin’ good coach.”

Bailey scowled while Harry nodded sagely.  “I feel so casual.”

_The fuck?_ Harry seemed to echo Cameron’s unspoken sentiment, opening his mouth to respond before looking passed Bailey to the man coming up behind him.  “No, _that’s_ casual.”

Bailey turned, his face softening into an adoring smile as his boyfriend came up in a pair of black leather skinny jeans covered in zippers, a white jumper with a skull in a lion’s mouth on it, and a pair of beat up black Vans Harry certainly didn’t seem endeared too.  Cameron glanced between the three of them while Salem smirked and looked down at the jumper Harry had curled his lip up at.

“Harold, this is McQueen,” he said as if that made it better.

“You’re in McQueen too?!”  Irial called, throwing an arm around Salem’s shoulder and pulling him into a side hug.

“My God, Iri!  What did I say?” Harry snapped.

“‘Sophisticated, not like you’re a fifteen year old playing dressup,’” Irial reiterated while Cameron’s mouth fell open, and he shot a Harry a betrayed, outraged look that had Bailey snorting while everyone else ignored it. “Look, Salem kept his hair a simple bleached blond for you.  I wore a pair of Cris’s overpriced boots for you.  But this is as close as you’ll come to some debonair bullshit.  I’m from middle class Liverpool.  The fuck do you think this is?”

To be fair, Cameron thought his attire seemed tamer than Salem’s. The paisley sheen over his black—obviously women’s—skinny jeans was hardly noticeable and the decal over the right side of his breast on his black McQueen jumper wasn’t nearly as in-your-face as Salem’s.

“Finally someone who _listened_ to me!” Harry lamented as Cris walked up with windswept, artfully mussed hair and the most bizarre combination of a patterned button-up, skinny jeans, and a vest with a pair of ridiculously expensive boots similar to the ones Irial had stolen for the occasion on his feet.

“Thanks, mate,” Cris beamed brightly.

Irial scrunched up his nose at his husband who laughed and leaned over to peck him on the lips.  Salem crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Harry.  “He looks like a hipster!  Like _you_!  This was rigged from the beginning.”

“Places,” a production assistant hissed at them.  “We’re on in five.”

“Right,” Harry nodded as Rosie came up beside him, resting her arm on her shoulder and leaning into him with the quiet confidence of someone who knew they’d be welcome.  “You remember what we went over.”

“How could we forget?”  Bailey asked.

Irial nodded, “It’s not like we went over it _all fucking night_.”

“Ya’ll got _yourselves_ into this mess,” Rosie told them, raising her eyebrows threateningly.

“By having fun?  With our friends?” Bailey asked archly.

“What a capital offense,” Cris deadpanned while Irial devolved into giggles.

“Enough,” Harry snapped, pointing at the sound stage, “go. Perform.  Do as you were told.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Salem snapped, pushing Bailey in front of him and following him onto the set where he greeted Derek Havershim—who he’d never met before—like an old friend.  Irial followed behind them with a hand on Cris’s lower back.  Cris turned back to wave at Cameron who smiled and nodded.

The four of them sat on the couch, Salem perching precariously on the arm with his feet tucked under Bailey’s thigh, and Cris sprawled half on top of his boyfriend while the crew scuttled around doing last minute checks. The audience tittered anxiously.

Harry tucked his hands into his pants pocket while Rosie leaned on him, narrowing her eyes on the four boys.  “You really think they’ve got this?”

Turning to look at her with a dumbfounded expression, Harry replied, “You have _met_ them haven’t you?”

“Point,” Rosie remarked.  “But to be _fair,_ you were the one who wanted to do this live.”

“To be _honest_ , it’s only because the Crisial shippers don’t believe anything unless it’s backed up with unedited video.”  Rosie’s eyebrows rose as she cocked her head, and Harry smiled, shaking his head and resting his forehead against her temple.  “I mean I understand _why_ , but it’s a bit of a hassle.”

Derek cleared his throat, and the crowd went silent as the man behind the camera counted down until they went live.  Derek adjusted his tie, eyes on the four men across from him, talking quietly amongst themselves with an easy familiarity and obvious closeness that Cameron envied.  Some day, he could only hope to friends like that.  That he could joke with even when they’d been dragged—kicking and screaming—out of their comfort zones to justify who they were, how they behaved, and the way their relationships worked in front of the whole world.

Pasting on a wide smile, Derek looked at the camera, the studio audience falling into an excited hush.  “Good evening and welcome to another exciting evening.  I’m Derek Havershim here with Arsenal footballer, Arthur Bailey, tech mogul, Konstantin Kimura-Petrov, Breaking Fourth’s, Cris Emerson, and his husband and radio DJ, Irial Dorian.”  Turning to look at the four of them, Derek raised his eyebrows.  “Hello, all, welcome to the show.”

“Hi,” they said with varying degrees of sincerity and facial expressions. Salem looked like he’d rather be about anywhere else, and Irial didn’t seem that far behind him, though the pair of them weren’t necessarily used to the same prying, invasive interviews as Bailey, who’d been dealing with them since he turned sixteen, and Cris, who’d been about the same age.

“I’ve seen you before, Cris, and you as well, Bailey,” the pair of them nodded while Derek turned to beam at Irial.  “ _You_ crashed my show.”

Irial smirked, “I think you’d best let that go mate.  That was nearly two years ago.”

“You, Mr. Petrov, you’re a hard man to pin down.”

“I don’t like giving interviews,” Salem confessed with a one-shoulders shrug. “But my publicist assured me, I wouldn’t feel the need to kill anyone after this one so…here I am.”

Bailey kept a straight face, but Irial scoffed while Cris frowned and cocked his head.  “He also assured you it wasn’t _optional_ so…”

Salem smirked and shrugged while Harry looked at the ceiling in exasperation.

“Either way,” Derek interrupted, “it’s fantastic to have all of you here. Isn’t it everybody?” The audience clapped, and Cameron raised his eyebrows at the attempt to give them a moment to gather themselves. Frankly, Cameron wondered if they _tried_ to be so bad at PR because Salem and Irial both had lived with men who practically drowned in it long enough to know the rules of that particular game.  As the four of them shifted minutely on the couch, Irial and Salem not managing to hide looks of raised eyebrows and irritation, Derek turned to Cris.  “You released your solo album, _Uphill Battle_ , last year right on the heels of your band’s album, _Some Kind of Serendipity_ , and then did _no_ promo for it.”

Cris gave him a charming smile.  “I was a bit busy doing promo for my band’s album.  I never really had any intention to do promotion for my album. It was personal and I wanted to share it, but honestly, that’s as far as I got with it.  I knew I wasn’t going to tour with it or do any music videos so it wasn’t a huge enough deal for me to try to do two promotions at once or to undermine my band’s sales like that.”

“It still sold _really_ well,” Derek remarked.

Nodding, Cris smiled at him while Irial spoke.  “Of _course_ it did. Breaking Fourth has some ridiculously dedicated fans.  Very impressive all around.”

“Who’s conducting this interview?”  Derek teased.

Irial looked like he swallowed a lemon, and Cameron watched as Cris discreetly pressed his thumb against the outside of Irial’s thigh until he forced as smile.  “I hear you mate. Carry on then.”

“But no tour last year?”  Derek asked, “Was that a group decision or…?”

Cris nodded, “We’ve toured almost every year, I believe. I got married last year, obviously. Cherrie and Micah got married this past April.  Beverly and Dominic got back together and wanted to try their hand at working on their relationship at home.  I think as a group we just realized we had a lot going on in our personal lives and didn’t want to complicate it further, put stress on already stressful situations. We’ve been getting together regularly and writing, recording, making the rounds at award shows, which we haven’t really been able to do with any regularity when we were touring, but I think we’re most definitely going to be on the road again next year.” Cris turned to look at Harry, raising his eyebrows.  “Yeah?”

Harry nodded slowly.

The boybander turned back to Derek, beaming, “Yeah.”

“But you all do have a new single coming out in _days_!” Derek laughed.

“I said we’ve been working!”  Cris responded teasingly, “We’ve got the whole next album recorded, titled, and a date set, but my publicist is back there shaking his head. I’m not allowed to talk about it, but yeah we’re going to surprise drop our next single at the beginning of October so look out for that.”

Nodding gratefully, Derek turned to Bailey who raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, face the consistently blank façade he wore whenever questioned by the press.  Harry’s jaw clenched, and Salem leaned into his boyfriend, throwing an arm around his shoulder, and Bailey softened minutely.

“I’m really excited you’re here.  I’m a huge fan.”

Bailey nodded with a slight smile.  “Thank you.”

“You’ve had a rough year.  Being outed, taking on the UEFA, Premier League, and still going and winning silver in the 2020 Olympics in spite of that.”

“It had to be done,” Bailey shrugged.  “If I’d had a choice…” Cameron’s eyebrows rose, Harry shifted his weight, and Salem pressed a finger into Bailey’s collarbone, making him trail off, eyes darting to Harry before he revised.  “It wasn’t ideal.  No one wants to be outed like that, especially when it affects theirs and their family’s lives, but mos…the people in my life were extremely supportive so that definitely helped. I’m incredibly proud of everything we’ve accomplished as a country and a sport this year.”

Derek nodded with a soft smile.  “Me too if I’m being honest.  Did you think you were going to make it?”

Bailey laughed wetly and leaned closer against Salem.  “Not really, no.”

Salem tried to run a hand through his hair, stilling and tilting his head when he realized just how much gel held it back.  Bailey bit back a genuine laugh as Salem patted his head gingerly, beaming up at Derek.  “It’s okay. I told him he could always stay home and make YouTube cooking tutorials.  I have no problem being a sugar daddy.”

Cameron laughed, and Irial beamed while Cris looked automatically to Harry with the knee-jerk of someone who’d been so overly media trained he needed affirmation constantly. Harry shook his head, exasperated but not concerned, eyes drifting up to the sky while Derek laughed. Bailey nodded his head, for once smiling widely and genuinely as he slung his arm over Salem’s knees and looked up at him.  “I own a percentage of your company.  Who’s really the sugar daddy in that scenario?”

“Definitely me,” Salem assured him.  “It’s still _my_ company.”

“It’s still _my_ money.”

“What’s mine is yours, snookums.”  Bailey scowled and flicked his knee.

Rosie leaned into Harry who watched, silent and attentive. “This is going better than expected.”

“For now,” Harry whispered back.

“I think that only counts if you’re married,” Cris informed them while Irial nodded.

“Speaking of,” Derek cut them off.  “Everyone’s wondering if there’s any wedding bells in your future.”

Bailey and Salem drew back looking appalled, and Harry collapsed onto Rosie, shaking his head for them not to answer.  Unluckily for him, Salem beat Bailey to the punch in the most undiplomatic way possible.

“God no!  Absolutely not! What…no!  Everyone asks us that.  I think we’re good living in sin.”

Harry tensed, Cris grimaced, and even Cameron tensed, recognizing that that might have been on of the worst ways to phrase that humanly possible. Eyes wide, Irial slowly turned to Salem who frowned at him in confusion, looking to Harry then a smirking Derek. He held up his hands.

“That’s…what I meant was…fuck.”

Bailey dropped his head against Salem’s leg while Irial and Cris glanced first at each other then to Harry who seemed ready to kill.

“‘Living in sin,’ huh?”  Derek asked archly.

Irial glared at him on Salem’s behalf.  “Figure of speech, mate.”

“Is it?”

“Fucking hell, I’m going to dump all four of them in a vat of acid to see if that helps their ability to problem solve,” Harry snapped while Rosie frowned thoughtfully, tilted her head and slanting her eyes towards her best friend.  Cameron agreed; that probably wouldn’t _solve_ anything.

“The four of you are pretty close,” Irial and Salem went immediately on the defensive while Cris licked his lips and shifted nervously, eyes already darting first to Irial then to Bailey whose face had dropped into a mask of unimpressed granite, a sneer barely held back and an eyebrow crooked just slightly to indicate how furious he was that that had even been said in a context that wasn’t purely platonic.  Derek kept going, and Harry held Rosie’s hand tightly in his like he hoped that alone would keep them from completely fucking up. “The pair of you,” he gestured to Salem and Bailey who remained unmoved, “are ‘living in sin,’ Bailey and Cris are getting super close in posh London gay clubs, and you’re all close enough to be papped entering and leaving each other’s house in the wee hours of the morning.”

Bailey rolled his eyes while Cris just narrowed his eyes on Derek. Irial shook his head slightly.

“Are there any truth to the rumors?”

“Which ones?”  Irial asked archly.

“You’ll have to be more specific, Derek.  There’s been hundreds.”  Cris said in a carefully neutral tone that Cameron recognized as being 100% venomous.

Derek pursed his lips and nodded seeming sympathetic, which didn’t manage to keep him from pushing.  “Well, the rumors that the pair of you had an affair.”

Cris laughed bitterly, and three heads swiveled towards him as he shifted and leaned towards Derek.  “I’m sorry. Was I supposed to take those _seriously_? Let’s be honest here, those have been the prevalent belief since I was _sixteen_. I’m just wondering when that’s gonna die.”

“I’d just like to think if they were going to have an affair it wouldn’t be so highly publicized,” Irial remarked offhandedly to Salem.

He nodded, “You’d think for two people used to hiding relationships that would have hidden their ‘affair’ better.  I mean we were _there_! That’s brazen!”

Irial nodded his head while Harry shook his anxiously, though only the two media-trained men on the couch caught the movement, and couldn’t very well stop them on live television to point out that their publicist wanted them to shut the fuck up.  Cameron didn’t think they’d entirely grasped that they were micc’ed up on a live television show; private conversations weren’t _private_.

“You were at the club?”  Derek inquired curiously.  “Where?”

“Screwing in the loo, obviously,” Irial remarked acidly.  He shook his head, “This is completely ridiculous. The whole world blew nothing out of proportion because two people who happened to like cock can’t possibly be in happy, committed relationships—”

Harry shook his head frantically, “Shut up, Irial.”

“—without wanting to cheat on the person they’re with.  People need to get over this scandal mindset. People can have friends and fun despite being in committed relationships.  I mean I know _Fifty Shades of Grey_ and _Twilight_ taught us all something completely different—”

“Shut _up_ ,” Harry hissed, catching even Salem’s attention.

“—but we’re all young and close and capable of having friend without sex. How is it that I spend all this time on house arrest because people are determined to make something out of nothing? The world needs to stop looking for things that don’t exist anymore and haven’t existed for—what?—five years!”

“Irial!” Salem hissed.

Harry’s whole body sagged in defeat as he turned to Rosie. “I knew he was a wild card. Fucking fuck…I’m gonna kill him. Then I’m going to put him through so much media training, he’s going to make One Direction seem laidback and transparent.”

Rosie gaped but didn’t respond.

“ _What’s_ been over for five years?” Derek managed to get out, clearly not expecting that.

Bailey, Cris, and Salem turned to look at Irial who froze before dropping his head in his hands.  “Fuck. Shit.  I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

“No shit,” Bailey deadpanned.  Irial looked up and glared at him.

“Are you saying Cris and Bailey used to date?”  Derek forced out, shocked.

Cris and Bailey turned to him, glancing at each other before Cris admitted reluctantly. “I mean…I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘dating.’”

Harry threw his hands up.  “Is it too late to quit?”

“Let Bailey and Cris work,” Rosie said, squeezing his arm as she kept her eyes on the four men trying to regroup on the sofa.

Slowly, he rolled his neck and nodded, pointing a warning finger at a sheepish Irial and motioning for him to keep it quiet.  Irial nodded once, flushing in what Cameron figured was an uncharacteristic display for him.

Bailey squared his shoulder and sat up straighter, folding his hands primly in his lap as he leveled Derek with a look that made the talk show flinch back. Cameron leaned forward on the edge of his seat, noting how Salem’s gaze darted quickly to Bailey with warring pride and concern before flitting to Harry’s gaze.  The PR fixer gave a single terse nod, and Salem forced himself to relax while Bailey offered Derek a wan smile that seemed more predatory than calming.

“It doesn’t actually matter, and I’m not going to answer that question.” Bailey told him shortly; Cris pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes on his hands nodding slowly. “Prying into our private lives, speculating on the strength of our relationships, reporting nonsense without knowing any of the facts.  I get it. That’s how the tabloids make money. People have to eat, pay rent and utilities.  I just think it’s time for everyone to understand that while what we do in public might be fair game for public consumption and speculation and theorizing, our private lives are actually _private_ and _ours_ and not for sale. Whether or not Cris and I had a previous relationship is no one else’s business, and whether or not we were shagging now is—fine—up for conjecture because that’s the very public and invasive lifestyle we’ve chosen to live, but in _actuality_ we don’t have to answer to you or anybody else.  There are four people that this _gossip_ has any affect on, and every one of them is on the same page.

“We’re really here because Cris’s public profile equates him to a manwhoring omnisexual lothario who thinks with his dick so naturally if he’s drunk and dancing with another man in a club when his _husband_ is nowhere in view, he _must_ be shagging him.  And I’m gay and an athlete so I’m entirely a primal creature whose baser nature clearly outweighs my higher reasoning, right?  That’s where this was going, and it’s insulting we’re pretending that’s not what this is about.  This isn’t a scandal! This is malicious falsehoods and determination to pick apart something that’s going really well because people love to see celebrities fall.  And I get it…I just think it’s bullshit.  I think it’s bullshit Cris is on trial for being young, drunk, and touchy-feely. I think it’s bullshit my history and friendships are weighed and studied like a science experiment to see if I’m fucking around.  I think it’s bullshit when people are in committed relationships that are directly affected by lies and slander in popular press that you don’t have to fact check and can just write whatever you want to based a single second captured by a camera, because issuing a retraction doesn’t mean people won’t believe it! I like you, Derek. I don’t think it’s _your_ fault, but I think Cris has had enough of being made out to be a manwhore, and I’m tired of being crucified, and Iri and Salem are tired of seeing their relationships being torn apart and gossiped over on the cover of magazines in the supermarket when all they wanted was a pint of ice cream.

“I was accused of _kidnapping_ in the same twenty-four hour timeframe as I was accused of publicly cheating on my boyfriend with one of my closest _married_ friends while our significant others were in the _restroom_.  And no one thinks this is a problem!  I can read between the lines of ‘Arthur Bailey signed his fifteen year old mentee out of his Minnesota boarding school to fly him to London without the permission of the boy’s parents’ as well as anyone.  The implication was disgusting and out of line, and people always go ‘well you can sue for defamation’ but what good does that when half the world thinks the system can be bought, and I have a fuckton of money? I’m tired of justifying myself to people who only want to see me fail.  I’m tired of having to prove myself innocent of baseless rumors. That’s the reality.”

Everyone seemed stunned into silence, Irial exchanging a look of raised eyebrows and pride with Salem while Cris looked up finally with a burgeoning smile as he tapped his fingers on Irial’s thigh.  Derek gaped, and Cameron beamed, looking to Harry and Rosie, the latter smiling broadly while the former had simply relaxed, nodding his head thoughtfully.

Derek cleared his throat anxiously.  “Right…well…”

Irial nodded, getting with the program and adding cheekily to relieve tension: “I’m pretty blunt.  I’d like to think if Cris ever did anything tabloid-worthy to me people would know about long before it hit newsstands.”

Salem shook his head and laughed, “Unless you had to sign an NDA.”

“True,” Irial pointed out before tilting his head back to smirk at Salem, “but I’d never sell out like that.”

Cris snorted, “Classy, you are not.”

“Rude, princess,” Irial remarked, slapping his lightly in the chest.

“But am I wrong, elf?”

Irial didn’t dignify that with a response.

Derek got himself together enough to avoid the main topic of conversation as he turned to _Salem_ completely avoiding Bailey’s thunderous expression.  “I saw about kidnapping.  What was _that_ all about?”

Salem, it seemed, wasn’t in the mood to play.  Instead, he gave Derek a genially smile and tugged on one of the gel-stiffened strands of his hair as he looked down at him with a soft look entirely at odds with the mischievous smirk on his lips. “ _Lyubimiy_?”

Cameron could _see_ the terror in Derek as he looked to Bailey who raised his eyebrows, fiddling with his blazer before he grinned dangerously and admitted, “My ‘mentee’ Cameron _ran away_ from boarding school due to a personal issue, forged a note in my name, used my bank account to buy himself a ticket to London, and used Salem’s uber to get to our house.  It’s rather eventful all around, but his mother and I have talked. The situation’s well in-hand and none of anyone else’s business.”

The ‘that’s all I’m going to say on the subject, I dare you to push me’ went unspoken but was no less evident given the way Derek sank back into his chair immediately like a chastised child.

Rosie nodded her head as she leaned into Harry.  “Bailey’s good at this.”

Cameron beamed proudly as he looked over at his _so-done_ mentor while Harry scoffed and turned to meet Rosie’s eyes. “I feel like this is the part where you say ‘you should have had faith in them.’”  She beamed, and Harry smiled wanly.  “Except they spent half this interview being hostile, half being flippant, and half announcing to the world Bailey and Cris used to screw. The only thing they _didn’t_ do was admit Salem and Irial weren’t in the picture because they were smoking marijuana behind the club.  And fuck me, drugs are easier to clean up than sex.”

“You can’t have more than two halves.  That defeats the purpose,” was Rosie’s only reply.

Harry seemed entirely unconvinced.

Cameron was startled out of their chat with a phone notification from Skype, and he glanced down at the name on the screen, his heart stuttering and stomach twisting as he gripped the device tightly in his hand. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, closing his eyes, and slowly releasing it as the phone considered to vibrated in his hand, he startled on finding Harry crouched down in front of him with a sympathetic look on his face.

“Answer it,” Harry insisted, “because you’re always going to wonder if you don’t.”

With a deep breath and a nod of his head, Cameron got to his feet and wandered a little ways away, tucking himself into a small empty alcove of the set as he answered the call with a deep breath and a grim smile. “Hi Tanner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Bailey's rants about the tabloids and entertainment industry might be my favourite things to write. Also, writing that posh mofo has started a profound interest in men's fashion. Like even though I'm not buying anything I get still get sticker shock looking at the prices. Crazy.


	4. See all of my kindness is taken for weakness

**Bailey strikes back…again**

It’s no longer news that Arsenal’s star forward Arthur Bailey developed a penchant for biting back at mass media since being outed in autumn of last year. He struck again only this evening when he appeared with his boyfriend, CEO Konstantin Kimura-Petrov, and close friends, popstar Cris Emerson and his Radio 1 DJ husband, Irial Dorian. Emerson and Bailey were accused yesterday of having a very public affair when they were photographed drunkenly dancing together at gay club, The Shadow Lounge, absent their partners. Not having any of it, Bailey told Derek Havershim the show’s host, “We’re really here because Cris’s public profile equates him to a manwhoring omnisexual lothario who thinks with his dick so naturally if he’s drunk and dancing with another man in a club when his _husband_ is nowhere in view, he _must_ be shagging him. And I’m gay and an athlete so I’m entirely a primal creature whose baser nature clearly outweighs my higher reasoning, right?” When Dorian hinted at a previous relationship between Bailey and Emerson, Bailey defended both of them by saying, “I just think it’s time for everyone to understand that while what we do in public might be fair game for public consumption and speculation and theorizing, our private lives are actually _private_ and _ours_ and not for sale. Whether or not Cris and I had a previous relationship is no one else’s business.” He continued on and finished his long-winded rant [see video below] by saying, “I’m tired of justifying myself to people who only want to see me fail.  I’m tired of having to prove myself innocent of baseless rumors. That’s the reality.” We, for one, don’t completely agree, but we can certainly see where he’s coming from.

**Comments:**

**BreakerGurlAna**

Yassssss Bailey drag them!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Forever_dean_a**

Bailey needs to chill. It was completely unnecessary to go off like that

**Crisial!!!!!!3**

Was it actually? Cuz they all got dragged onto a talkshow to say they weren’t having sex. Like who else has to do that? Not het couples.

**Anonymous**

Here we go making it about sexuality

**Bi_in_the_sky**

It is tho?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Arsen_agurl57**

No it’s because Cris Emerson’s a slag. Let’s not get it twisted

**Bestillmyshipperheart**

Since when? He’s been in a committed relationship for 5yrs! Bailey’s on point. Slay baby slay

**Anonymous**

Am I the only one who’s still over here dying over how two of the hottest ppl in the world hooked up and then went on to date two of the other hottest people in the world and now they’re like a hot friend tribe???? Yes? Ok. I’ll just be over here fangirling until I die thanks

**itsjustafatbird**

lmfao I feel you! Bring on the fanart. I’m ready!

* * *

They settled around Cris and Irial’s dining room table with beers and copious amounts of Domino’s pizza to celebrate a job sort of well done, and Harry had dropped himself in Rosie’s lap half an hour in with a absinthe that Salem felt reasonably certain was technically illegal in the UK.  When he’d brought it up, Harry had tossed a chicken popper at his head and flipped him off…he hadn’t bothered bringing it up again.

“I don’t get why you’re so upset,” Cris told with him with perfect amount of sincerity to his obliviousness to grate of Harry’s already frazzled nerves and make everyone else at the table perfectly aware that he was intentionally being an asshole to rile up the fixer.

It was working.

Harry didn’t even look over at him as he pointed a finger in his direction with the unspoken threat of someone with no more fucks to give as he enunciated clearly.  “Shut. The fuck.  Up.  I have an actual life I was living before you dragged me in here to keep the four of you from being publicly crucified.”

“’Scuse me, Potter, no one here _asked_ for your help.  Thank you very much.” Irial joked as he came to sit down at the table, one hand gripping their massive Bengal cat who settle in his lap without protest, and the other clutching a couple slices of meatlovers pizza that he handed to Cris.

“Maybe not, but if I’d left you up to your own devices Cris and Bailey would be having a hashtagged-confirmed full-fledged affair spanning five years and complete with receipts and a full-page date-by-date breakdown in _The Sun_.  Irial would have spilled every secret the public never needed to know on live radio to create an even _bigger_ mess that would make the tabloids go ‘see my point exactly.’  And Salem would have been arrested by Interpol on numerous accounts of cybercrimes against tabloid agencies to try and curb his frustration.”

Salem paused, meeting Cris, Irial, and Bailey’s eyes in turn before he nodded and reached for a slice of pizza.  “Fair point.”

“Where’s Izumi?”  Bailey asked lowly, nudging Salem’s arm.

He nearly rolled his eyes.  His little sister had lived in London for a year, could navigate the Tube and buses better than Bailey who’d lived there his whole life, and had spent a good portion of the summer in San Francisco basking in the glory that was Google. Bailey adored her like she was his own sibling and felt consequently protective.  Salem thought a little bit of independence would be good for her; there was no way Salem would eventually hand over his company to someone who needed her big brother to check up on her five times a day.

Not, of course, that he didn’t know where she was, because _of course he did_.

“She went to that thing with her course-mates, remember?”

Bailey frowned and cocked his head, “In Camden Town?”

“You don’t approve?”

His lip curled, “I don’t like Camden Town.  She isn’t getting a tattoo is she?”

Salem ducked his head to hide his smile, waiting until he’d schooled it before looking back up and meeting his boyfriend’s eyes. “That’s a little hypocritical, isn’t it?”

Bailey tilted his head back and gave Salem a coy smile that had Salem shaking his head.  Not long after the Olympics when Salem had been knee-deep in the midst of company issues and spending hours at a time Skyping every facet of his company from the depths of the engineering lab, Bailey had decided to get a tattoo.  Salem, incidentally, had stumbled home half-drunk off his lack of sleep to find Bailey not sleeping with a disgruntled scowl on his face as he fought to sleep comfortably with most of his chest tattooed with a massive, intricate compass rose Native American design with an eagle, wolf, and orca whale representing sky, earth, and land.

It was, undoubtedly, a beautiful tattoo…it had also led to Bailey being a complete tit for _days_ until it had lost its sensitivity.

After the first two days of being shaken awake with the promise of ‘if I can’t sleep neither can you, asshole (like _Salem_ had done this to him)’ he’d stopped going to work. He wasn’t making any progress anyway running on about nine days of next to no sleep.

“She’s getting the outline and flag of Japan tattooed on her wrist,” Salem confided.

“Fucking hell,” Bailey shook his head.

Irial and Cris laughed while Harry shook his head and inclined his drink towards Bailey.  “Where’s your cub anyway?”

Bailey pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully before tipping back his head and calling out: “Cameron!”  Within seconds the red-eyed boy appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, minutely perking up when he saw pizza.  He stole a slice off of Salem plate, dodging him when he batted a hand to hit him and dropping into the seat beside Cris with a triumphant smirk. “Right there,” Bailey nodded.

Harry hummed and looked sideways at the teenager.  “All right then?”

Cameron barked out a humorless laugh, “No.”

Eyebrows raised, Harry offered him the glass of absinthe. Bailey and Cris made a noise of protest while Cris blurted out, “Seriously, Harry?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry drew back, “Fine.”  Rosie laughed as she reached over to pop open a beer, handing it to Harry who passed it along to Cameron.  The teenager took it gratefully and took a swig with the light wince of someone not quite used to the taste.

Cris shook his head while Bailey glared at Harry, “Not what I meant.”

“You’re _Brits_ ,” Rosie told them incredulously.

Harry nodded, “We all practically started drinking straight out of the womb. Let’s not be hypocritical.”

“If _we’d_ given that to him, you’d have been up our arses,” Cris scowled.

“Of course I would have!” Harry exclaimed, “You can’t just go around giving alcohol to minors.”

Irial narrowed his eyes and shared a look with his husband. “I…what?”

Cris shook his head and decided not to bother answering. Salem laughed, grunting when Bailey whacked him in the stomach for his trouble, and they all turned back to Cameron who seemed to relax with each bite of pizza and swig of what had to be lukewarm beer at best.

Rosie prodded him in the shoulder with the tip of her finger. “Speak, young’un.” Harry and Irial snorted while she grinned wickedly.

Cameron didn’t acknowledge the comment beyond a long, forlorn sigh, tilting his head back on the chair to stare up at the ceiling.  “I talked to him.  Tanner.”

_Obviously,_ the looks on everyone’s faces said.  They’d known that since he’d nicked a pair of Bailey’s wireless earbuds to have a hushed but angry conversation in the back of the SUV on the drive from Derek’s studio.

Irial opened his mouth to speak when Cris gripped his thigh tight enough to make him wince and whirl around to glare at his straight-faced husband. Harry physically covered Rosie’s mouth with his hand, and Salem swore she licked his palm to try to get him to uncover her mouth by the way his lips twitched in some bizarre mash-up of a grimace and stifled laughter.

“Tanner says he’s sorry, that he didn’t realize what he’d be missing until I up and left without a word.  He wants us to find a way to move passed this, but I think…” Cameron shook his head and released a breath as he turned to meet Bailey’s eyes.  Besides Salem, his boyfriend straightened and shifted under the look, though his face remained stoic.  “I think it’s too late for that.  I’m not _that_ guy. If he did it once, what’s to say he won’t do it again?  I don’t know if I can live with that much uncertainty, you know?  I’d always wonder, especially since we’ll still be so far apart all the time.  I don’t trust him anymore, and how do we go on with that kind of instability and paranoia in our relationship?”

Salem pressed his lips together in a hard line, nodding in understanding. Irial didn’t seem surprised either. Harry took a dainty sip of his ridiculously poignant alcohol and nodded.  “So what are you gonna do?”

“Focus on my career,” Cameron said succinctly, his voice steady, hard, and full of a determined maturity that hadn’t been quite so prominent before. “I talked to my mom, and she said if it’s okay with you and Salem that I can stay a little longer. I want to go up to Manchester and look at the football academy up there.  I want to try to get an agent, and I want to be in the English Premier League by the time I’m eighteen.”

“Of course you can stay,” Salem nodded.

“EduKick’s good,” Bailey responded, latching onto all the _football_ in that statement.  “And I’m sure between Harry and I, we can find you an agent when you’re ready.”

“First of all,” Harry interrupted with a glower, “I was talking about your relationship.  Second of all, when did I get involved with this?”

“So you _don’t_ want to represent the what would most likely be the first openly gay footballer to _start out that way_ in the English Premier League, or maybe _anywhere_ ever?” Rosie asked archly, popping a piece of crust dripping in garlic into her mouth.  Salem grimaced, and she wiggled her eyebrows and smirked at him.

Harry sighed, “The things I do for friends.”

“How much do I pay you again?”  Cris inquired while Salem um-hmmed and nodded in understanding. Harry was great, but he was also a _businessman_. He’d always help out his friends, but most of his friends had money…so he had a price.  At least, it was a fairer price than anywhere else, though.

Cameron shook his head.  “I said we could try friendship again.  I don’t know if it’ll work, but I want it to.  I just don’t know how to go from being head-over-heels in love with someone who lived in your pocket to being long distance, distrusting, mildly paranoid with feelings-you’re-trying-to-forget friends.  How does that even work?”

All eyes turned to Salem whose own widened as he shrank back. And, okay, fair enough, between his tempestuous history with his own ex-boyfriend-turned-woman-turned-archenemy, Georgia, and his probably-caused-Harry-his-fair-share-of-heart-palpitations outrageously close relationship with Charlie, Salem really did have the most experiences with exes-turned-friends.

That didn’t mean he wanted to _answer_.

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Salem opened his mouth to respond only to close it and smile weakly.  Cameron’s lips turned up slightly, and Salem sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Chaz and I…” he pressed his lips together and half-shrugged uncomfortably.  _He and Chaz, God._ “We…I don’t know, we just worked as friends.  It took a few tries but I think we were just so invested in each other, enjoyed each other’s company that it forced us to get it together, but we didn’t have this horrendous breakup. We just came to a mutual decision to not anymore.”

“And you and Georgia?”  Harry pressed.

“Georgia and I weren’t friends.  We were exes who despised each other who couldn’t let it go because…I don’t know…high school or something.”  Salem focused on Cameron, shaking his head.  “Don’t be like me and Georgia.  She sold out my boyfriend to the press, and I took her to court for damages until she was bankrupt, unemployed, and forced to leave the country.  Apparently, she’s living with her deadbeat boyfriend in the projects of Atlanta and working minimum wage at Hooters.”

“Nothing wrong with Hooters,” Rosie glared.

“ _Waitressing_ wasn’t the point of that statement, Rosie darling,” Irial replied.  “Keep your jump-the-gun Tumblr feminism to yourself.”

Rosie flipped him off, and Salem laughed slightly.  “It’s going to depend on you and Tanner, but, Cameron,” he waited until he had the teenager’s full attention before telling him seriously, “if it isn’t working or it hurts too much: stop.  It’s not healthy, and it’ll hurt you more than anything. Understand?”

Cameron nodded slowly, and Irial clapped his hands together, startling everyone.

He beamed and got to his feet.  “This is waaaaayyyyy too serious after we almost got castrated by our favorite Tri-Wazard Champion,” he nodded to Harry who rolled his eyes and half-smiled, “so…you know what this needs?”

“No,” Harry and Rosie said together while Cris beamed up at his husband, absolutely charmed.

Irial nodded like he hadn’t heard.  “Exactly my thoughts: _Les Miserables_!”

“Is that a musical?”  Cameron asked.

“Excuse me very much?!”  Irial demanded.

“It’s long isn’t it?”  Bailey asked Salem. “With no spoken words and a shit ton time jumps?”

Salem nodded while Irial whirled around to gape at them, appalled. “Also it’s depressing. Anne Hathaway goes from being single mom separated from her child and working for pennies at a factory where the foreman should be convicted of sexual harassment to being a hairless, toothless, sickly, starving prostitute.  Best not.”

“Crispin! Make them stop!” Irial whined playfully, curling into Cris who threw his arm around Irial’s shoulders while beaming.

“No offense, elf, but I’m voting for _Juno_.”

“Do the pair of you not own any other movies?”  Rosie commented in disbelief.

Cameron giggled.

Irial perked up, “You know what we own?  _Crimson Peaks_.”

Rosie pursed her lips, met Harry’s eyes, and nodded slowly. “Okay, now we’re talking.”

“Love, ghosts, sex,” Bailey nodded.

“Tom Hiddleson shirtless,” Cris added.

“Incest with Jessica Chastain,” Salem finished.  “I’m sold.”

“I’m fifteen,” Cameron felt the need to point out.

Harry shrugged as everyone else picked up their food and made their way into the living room.  Cameron blinked at them while Salem turned to him and nodded his head for him to come along. “You just got offered absinthe, got cheated on, made mature life decisions, and are holding your not-cold-enough beer very well.  I think you can handle a rated-R movie about ghosts, marriage, and incest.  Come see how the real world works.”

Cameron made a face and cocked his head.  “The real world has haunted houses, brothers and sisters fucking, and Tom Hiddleson as a ghost…he is a ghost, isn’t he?”

“That would ruin the surprise,” Cris said, coming up before Salem to tuck Cameron under his arm and tug him into the living room with everyone else as Salem rolled his eyes and grabbed the pizza.  Cris leaned into Cameron and said quietly, “Besides, it’s not really about the ghosts.”

“So what’s it about then?”  Cameron challenged.

Cris looked down at him with a wry smile.  “You’ll never know until you get to the end.”

Cameron stilled and met Cris’s gaze thoughtfully, and Salem nodded. Sometimes he forgot Cris Emerson was more than just another boybander with a pretty face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I'd ever use my screenwriting teacher's whole 'if the story's about what it's about in sci-fi or fantasy then you're fucked' in the context of explaining life to a 15 year old in a piece of gay fiction. Ok. This is a new one.
> 
> I'd just like to point out I wrote this in two days, and have yet to do any of my assigned work for next week, although I did spend entirely too much time on Tumblr and live streamed One Direction's performance on Radio 1...which I never do because omg you need to listen to Made In the AM. That album...yes just...yes.
> 
> And now I'm going to continue to procrastinate by starting to write the next book about Charlie and Pat...which is still title less as of this moment. Btw I'm not necessarily 100% about the absinthe, but my flatmates said you can't buy absinthe in the UK (it's illegal to sell because of how high the alcohol content is) except at certain places like Harrod's and Sainsbury because they have some policy about selling everything. I didn't double check. EduKick is also a real football boarding school in Manchester.

**Author's Note:**

> This completely got away from me. I had every intention for it to be short...it's not. That being said. The Shadow Lounge is an actual reasonably famous gay club in London.


End file.
